A Day With Sherri
by winniereed
Summary: Sherlock is given the task of watching his goddaughter Sherri for the first time. He realizes quickly that even his mind palace doesn't hold information about everything.


A Day with Sherri

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes in any way, shape, or form. This fan-fic is purely for the entertainment of others.**

**Enjoy!**

"Sherlock!" Mary called out, John close behind her. "We're back!"

Together, they climbed up the stairs toward John's former flat, hands still clutching their tickets to the theatre they had just attended. It was their first night out since Sherri was born and they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

At the door now, John reached out to open it but Mary grabbed his arm. He turned toward his wife, his voice a whisper. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…," she trailed off, gesturing toward the door. She had her doubts still about their babysitter.

John scoffed at the wordless idea. "Oh, come off it. Our daughter is fine." He pulled open the door. "Sherlock!" he called out and walked in.

They were surprised by what they saw. In his chair with their daughter burbling happily in his arms was Sherlock. She was looking intently at Sherlock, her pudgy fist clutching at his dark curls. He made no effort to unlock the child's grip. His eyes were closed as though bored but his features betrayed that her tugging hurt.

"Sherlock?" John asked, grinning as his friend winced due to the child's excitement that her father was home.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. "Back so soon? How was the play?"

"Oh it was wonderful," Mary said and went over to take back her daughter from Sherlock. Gently as she could, she unhooked her daughter's fingers from Sherlock's hair. He gritted his teeth as the child stubbornly refused to let go, John snickering quietly. Sherlock sighed.

"Come on, Sherri," he said to the child. "Your mummy wants y- ow, ow, ow ,ow, ow," he winced as Mary finally pried her daughter's fingers loose. She smiled as she looked at her daughter.

"You two must have really bonded while we were gone," she commented.

"Well, as the godfather I suppose I'm obligated to form an attachment to your daughter," Sherlock responded, rubbing the top of his head.

John sat down across from Sherlock. "How was she? Did she give you any trouble?"

"Nope," he answered, the word ending with a dull pop.

"Really?" Mary asked, sitting down next to John with their daughter.

Sherlock paused to pick up his violin which was lying next to him on the floor before he spoke in his usual rapid-fire manner. "Basically it was an uneventful evening."

* * *

><p><em> "For the first two hours or so, I entertained Sherri with her toys provided by you when you left."<em>

Sherlock pulled out his med kit and lab journal onto the counter in the kitchen. Sherri was sitting next to him in a make-shift high chair, her eyes thoughtful as Sherlock talked to her as he worked.

"…and then my brother Mycroft called me on his cell and told me that he had returned." He carefully looked at her eyes with a light. "Simply put, I was surprised." Sherlock was now listening to her heart with a stethoscope. "How," he whispered quietly. "did he live?"

Sherri chose that moment to spit up on Sherlock's hand that was resting on her chest. It dribbled in between his fingers. Sherlock paused and looked down at his hand.

"Ah, about time. I was beginning to worry you would never do it." He grinned at her. "Do you know how long I've been dying to analyze baby's vomit?"

Sherri blinked and then smiled back in imitation.

Carefully so not to wipe away the vomit on his hand, Sherlock picked up Sherri and wiped her mouth and dress clean with a damp wash towel.

"Rule one to working in a lab, Sherri," he said and tapped her gently on the nose. "Always have a clean area. A dirty area means possible contamination and that means incorrect data." He paused as the child reached out to grab his hair and winced. "Understood?"

Sherri laughed happily and tugged his hair in answer.

* * *

><p><em>"But then, like all children will do, she grew…fussy."<em>

Impatiently, Sherlock waited for the phone to pick up. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair while he lightly bounced a whimpering Sherri on his lap.

"Come on," he hissed.

After what seemed like an hour to Sherlock, he heard someone pick up the phone.

"_Hello?"_ the voice said.

"I need help," Sherlock said in answer.

"_Sherlock? Is that you?"_

_ "_Yes, of course it is."

The voice hesitated for a moment before asking. "_What is it? What's wrong?"_

"I need you to come over here and help me," Sherlock answered tersely.

"_The last time I came over there when I thought you needed 'help', you were just stuck on anecdotes for John's wedding."_

Sherlock sighed. "It's different this time, Gary."

"Greg," Lestrade reminded him, irritated.

"Yes, but it's different this time," Sherlock insisted. "I have this child with me and—,"

"_What's wrong with him?" _Lestrade asked.

"It's a girl and she's crying. I don't know how to make her stop."

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "_Is that John's kid?"_

Sherlock nodded before he remembered Lestrade couldn't see him. "Yes, I'm…babysitting her."

Lestrade began to laugh. "_Ooh, that's too cute."_

Sherlock closed his eyes. "Don't start."

"_So John and Mary finally let you baby-sit the girl? Oh they must really like you." _Lestrade leaned back in his chair back in his office. _"I wouldn't trust you to look after a corpse. We all know how you like to experiment."_

"_I_," Sherlock interrupted, "haven't been _experimenting_ on my own goddaughter." He paused and clarified. "Simply taking saliva and measuring her. I…I want to make sure she's alright."

Lestrade had fallen silent when Sherlock got indignant. Now he smiled to himself.

"_So, they made you godfather as well?"_

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Anyway, I need you to help me. She's crying and I can't get her to stop."

_"Is she hurt?" _Lestrade asked.

"No, of course not," Sherlock replied, irritated. "She's just…fussy."

_"Uh, did you try feeding her?"_

"Uh…," Sherlock said quietly, glancing at Sherri. He hadn't thought of that.

"_Or maybe you need to change her diaper."_

Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily. Then he cleared his throat again. "I've got to go," he said and hung up.

Back at the office, Lestrade looked at his cell phone, shook his head and smiled to himself.

* * *

><p>"<em>When I've tried everything else I could think of, I resorted to some nearby feminine help…"<em>

"Wait," Mary interrupted. "You got help?"

Up till this moment, John and Mary had been sitting quietly on the sofa listening to Sherlock tell about his evening with their daughter.

Sherlock looked wordlessly at John.

John patted Mary's hand. "Just let him continue. He doesn't like to be interrupted."

Rolling his eyes at the idea that he was interrupted, Sherlock cleared his throat. "Where was I?"

"You went to get feminine help," John answered, taking Sherlock's obvious hint that he was annoyed at the interruption from his wife.

"Whose help was it?" Mary asked, unable to help herself.

Sherlock sighed. "Ms. Hudson."

* * *

><p>"Sometimes you amaze me, Sherlock," Molly said while cradling the child in her arms. Sherri had finally stopped crying thanks to Molly's assistance. After changing her and giving her a bottle, she was happily sucking away at her wanted bottle. Sherlock looked away from Sherri's process and glanced at Molly.<p>

"Do I?" he asked in confusion.

"I mean," Molly said, rocking Sherri in her arms, "here you are, the famous detective. The man who can see anything wrong and you didn't know how to help a baby."

Sherlock remained silent and looked away. Molly grinned at his realization that he had resorted to help on a matter that he could have easily done on his own and that she knew it.

Molly, still smiling, looked down at Sherri. "She's beautiful. What's her name?"

"Sherri Louise Watson," Sherlock answered promptly. "Born August 6, 2014, seven pounds, eleven ounces. Hazel eyes, blonde hair like her mother. Has a preference to peaches and cream oatmeal."

"Sherlock," Molly tried to say.

"Started to walk a few feet last week," Sherlock continued as if Molly hadn't spoken. ", but took a nasty tumble which ultimately resulted in a very fine cut across her left eyebrow."

"Sherlock," Molly repeated.

"John took a look at it of course and said she wouldn't have a scar but I believe that—,"

"_Sherlock," _Molly said firmly.

Sherlock stopped talking and looked at Molly in surprise. Molly shifted her annoyed features to that of affectionate exasperation.

"I merely asked you her name, not her…," she struggled for the words. "…entire life."

"I thought it was accepted for a godfather to tell everyone everything about his godchild."

A different smile was on Molly's face. "They made you godfather?"

Sherlock didn't respond right away, his face unreadable. Molly realized something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"Why are people surprised to hear that I'm the godfather of John and Mary's child?" Sherlock finally asked.

Since his voice wasn't sad but merely thoughtful, Molly decided to answer him truthfully. "Because we know how you are around people and since we have never seen you interact with an infant before, we don't know how…we don't know what…"

"You don't know how I might interact with an infant," Sherlock finished for her.

Molly nodded. "That's right."

Sherlock gestured toward Sherri and Molly handed her toward him. Cradling her, he said, "I am not at a total loss as to how to handle a child. I was one once before."

"Then why did you come to me?" Molly asked.

Sherlock fell silent and bit his upper lip. Breaking the silence, Molly commented, "Sheri Louis,"

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asked in confusion.

"Sheri Louis? She was a ventriloquist. Sherri's name is so close to hers," Sherlock continued to look blank. "Lamb Chop?" Molly tried helpfully.

"Not hungry," Sherlock said, very confused now.

"No, um," Molly hurriedly explained. "Lamb Chop was Sheri Louis's sock puppet. It was an American show for children."

There was an awkward pause before Sherlock said, "You know what? I think I am a bit peckish."

"I know a place," Molly said and grabbed her coat.

* * *

><p>"<em>As a favor to me, Ms. Hudson cooked dinner for me while I prepared for Sherri's meal around 6:30,"<em>

"You know, I lied when I said I was hungry," Sherlock said, not touching his steaming plate of food.

"No," Molly swallowed her mouthful of food. "You just said that to get out of our awkward conversation because you _were_ hungry. You don't say you're hungry as an excuse, not you." She pushed his plate closer to him. "Come on, eat." When he didn't move, she reminded him, "You're not on a case so you are allowed to eat."

Not taking his eyes off Molly, Sherlock popped a forkful of food into his mouth, chewed and swallowed quickly.

"There," he said stubbornly. "I ate something."

Molly gestured to the plate with her fork. "All of it or I won't help you."

"What makes you think I need help?" Sherlock said indignantly, standing up. He meant to leave with Sherri right then but with a resigned sigh, he sat back down. Molly's expression was neutral.

There was a long silence as Sherlock looked down at his interlocked fingers, struggling with himself with whether or not he would really swallow his pride this time. He never needed help on small matters like these but this was truly one area he was completely unfamiliar with. If he didn't learn how, he might never have the chance to look after Sherri again until she was much older. It wasn't that he absolutely wanted to look after Sherri (he simply had too much to do), it was that he wanted to prove that he was perfectly capable of handling his brand-new goddaughter.

"Molly," Sherlock finally said. "I _don't _know anything about raising children. It's something I never thought I would do so I deleted any information regarding raising children long ago. But now, I…"

Molly reached out to gently grab Sherlock's arm. "I get it,"

"So, will you," Sherlock sighed heavily. "help me?" and immediately groaned inwardly at saying the words.

Molly leaned back in her chair and pointed at Sherlock's barely touched plate.

"Eat all of it and I will."

Scowling, Sherlock picked up his fork. "You are infuriating," he muttered.

* * *

><p>"<em>When Sherri was done eating, I asked for Mrs. Hudson to leave so I could entertain the child again."<em>

"Well, I guess this is where I leave you two," Molly said, standing in the door frame of Sherlock's flat.

Sherlock tossed his coat on his chair without looking. "I suppose so."

Molly carefully handed Sherri over to Sherlock. "Now, if you have any trouble, call me whenever you need me." Molly blinked. "I mean not me, but my services." Molly blanched at her own words and closed her eyes. "I mean,…"

"You remember how you thought Sherri was named after that ventriloquist you mentioned earlier?" Sherlock interrupted, saving Molly from continuing to fumble over her words.

Grateful, Molly asked, "Yes?"

"Well you were wrong," Sherlock said simply and bent down to place Sherri in her playpen.

Not sure how to respond, Molly nodded, her jaw set. "Oh, I knew I would be. It was just a suggestion that she was named after someone."

"…about the ventriloquist," Sherlock continued, straightening. "You were not wrong about her being named after someone famous."

Molly looked at Sherri and then at Sherlock. Without warning, Molly slapped Sherlock across the face. He blinked and touched his cheek.

"What was that for?" he demanded, his eyes watering.

"You are not famous," Molly said firmly and then started to laugh.

"Was that necessary?" Sherlock winced and rubbed his smarting face. He looked at her, dumbstruck. "And now you're _laughing? _Why?"

"Necessary because you are textbook narcissistic," Molly explained and grinned. "Laughing because it was fun."

"You enjoy me being in pain?" Sherlock asked incredulous.

Molly shook her head, knowing that he would never get it. She stepped away from him.

"I've got to go now. I think this time you will have an easier time with Sheri if she gets fussy." Molly turned to leave but Sherlock called after her.

"Molly, wait," He waited until she had come back inside and she was in front of him. "I…um," he stammered. "…wanted to thank you for teaching me how to take care of Sherri."

"Oh, it was no—," Molly started to say but Sherlock stopped her with a quick but tender kiss. She flushed slightly and Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Hmm, yes. Thank you for your help." He guided her toward the door. "Thanks for dinner and everything else." He almost managed to close the door but she blocked it deftly with her foot. He looked at her in slight panic. Molly merely smiled.

"I was wondering if you would like to have coffee?" she said, repeating the first thing she said to him in an effort for him to go out with her.

This time, Sherlock picked up on the hint. But instead of giving her a date, he grinned and said, "Black. Two sugars please. I'll be here with Sherri." And without another word, he closed the door.

Outside in the hallway, Molly tightened her coat closer to her with a smile on her face.

* * *

><p>Up until this point, Sherlock had been cleverly lying about what he had been doing with Sherri that night. But now, he comfortably told them everything they did until John and Mary walked in.<p>

"…and then after we played Operation," Sherlock said in present time. "I've had her on my lap while I thought of a new song to compose on my violin and just as she had a fistful of my hair and wouldn't let go, mercifully, you walked in."

Mary and John looked at each other. "Looks like you had a lot of fun, then," Mary said.

"Mm-hmm," Sherlock murmured.

John glanced at Sherri in Mary's arms. "I think we better go, Sherlock. Sherri is almost asleep."

They stood up and Sherlock walked them toward the door.

"Yes, well. Thank you for coming. Come back anytime," Sherlock said in his usual manner and quickly shut the door on them. He stayed by the door to make sure they were gone before he permitted himself a brief sigh.

* * *

><p>As they stood hailing for a taxi, John glanced back at his former flat.<p>

"That's funny," he commented.

"What?" Mary asked, finally managing to make a taxi stop for them.

"I thought Ms. Hudson said she was going to be gone for two weeks to visit her sister."

Mary reached out from inside the cab to take Sherri so John could get in. "She is."

John sat down next to his wife and closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Arse-hole," he muttered to himself.

* * *

><p>Alone now, Sherlock bent down to pick up his violin. Moments later, a sweet and simple melody sang throughout his flat. Interjected here and there were a few notes of melancholy but would resolve into a joyous sound that would swell in pitch until it finally ended on a tender note. Close to the window now, Sherlock looked out and smiled to himself.<p> 


End file.
